


The couch, in your absence

by suburbanmotel



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Everyone Wants Jamie, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Injury, Injury Recovery, Insecurity, Jealous Tyler, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Post-Surgery, Proposed Group Sex, Rejected Group Sex, oblivious jamie, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29571036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/pseuds/suburbanmotel
Summary: //Muscle memory remains an enigma.//“So,” said Roope. “Seggy’s gonna be out for a while, yeah?”Jamie looked up from his skates and pulled a face. “Yeah. Like, March, maybe April? Sucks.”“Yeah,” Roope said, drawing it out. “Sucks.”He and Miro exchanged a look. Miro kicked the door. It closed with a thud. They both moved closer.Jamie gave up, stopped what he was doing, sat back, looked right at them.“So,” Roope said again, tilting his head and smiling. “How serious are you two, exactly?”//
Relationships: Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 155





	The couch, in your absence

**Author's Note:**

> This? I…don’t even know. What I _do_ know, however, is that I started writing it way too long ago and now I just have to be done with it! I’ve messed with the timeline and location of certain events because writers can do that! And also, this is all made up anyway.
> 
> //
> 
> Title and summary from “Thaw,” by TC Tolbert
> 
> //

//

_Hip arthroscopy patients can expect to walk using crutches for one to two weeks afterward, and to undergo six weeks of physical therapy._

//

Everything hurt, everything hurt, _everything fucking hurt_ and everything felt very very good at the same time, still and silent in the dark and full of bizarre images and a head that felt too large and limbs that felt too heavy. It was all confusing and beautiful. In brilliant _technicolour_.

He was swimming down, he was swimming up, sideways and everyway. He kicked up from deep blue depths but not really kicking at all because one leg wasn’t working too great and he hoped the surgeon hadn’t chopped it off by accident haha but he could see light just above his head and he had to get there because if he didn’t he’d probably, like, die. There was light above and there were voices, he was sure of it, muffled, beating at his ears. As he rose he could hear them more clearly, familiar and warm and welcoming and concerned.

He blinked a few times, slow and sticky, and opened his mouth, which was also sticky and tasted like something burnt and dry and long dead.

“Hey,” Tyler said. His voice didn’t sound like his and his mouth wasn’t working right, just like the rest of him. Thick and heavy and distorted. Slanting sideways. Too cold too bright. In _technicolour_. There wasn’t pain exactly but things weren’t _right_ , deep down in the bones.

“Hey,” said Jamie. Oh, _there_ he was. Face close and looming and pale and more serious than usual. He was hazy and concerned and so fucking beautiful Tyler wanted to weep.

“Heyyyyy,” someone drawled and it was him. _He_ was drawling, in that weird voice that was not quite his own. “Heyyy beautiful.” He paused. “You are _so_ fucking beautiful.” He tried to lick his lips but his tongue was too dry. “And I didn’t die. Cool.”

He’d been worried about dying. He was always worried about dying. Well, not _always_ , but during operations that involved anesthetic, yes. But he didn’t appear to be dead yet. Jamie looked way too worried and tired for this to be anything other than Real Life.

“Whoa,” Jamie said and there was a large hand on his head and in his hair. “You’re crying. Are you hurting? You shouldn’t be hurting yet. Are you hurting? _Fuck_.”

He looked really worried, Tyler thought. He needed to fix that even though he felt both in and out of his body at the same time and wasn’t sure how many limbs he actually had.

“I have the right number of limbs,” Tyler said, and he meant it as a question, but it didn’t come out quite like that, which didn’t seem to help Jamie’s expression. The bed Tyler was lying in was narrow and hard and white because he was in a hospital because he’d had an operation right _right_. And Jamie had been there when he went _in_ and he was here _now_ because Jamie loved him. Tyler tried to arrange his uncooperative mouth into a smile. “I fucking love you so much.”

Jamie closed his eyes and smiled. “You are so high right now,” he said. His hand kept moving in Tyler’s hair, soft, careful. “And I love you, too.”

“Yeah I know you do. You really do.”

“I really do.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh huh.”

“I have _all_ my limbs.”

“Ok, where’s the doctor?”

Later, there was a car and a driver and there was Jamie, helping him into the car and getting him home. Tyler stared out at the passing landscape, head bobbing gently against the cool glass of the window as he watched the greens and browns and greys of strip malls and scrub trees whip by and then, at last, his home. His dogs — his dogs! — had been locked away in a room far in the bowels — bowels! haha — of the house while he hobbled inside and made his way to the couch — his couch! — and Jamie got him settled with his big, sure, steady hands and sweetly concerned face, that little furrow between his eyes just there, the one that meant he was Really Worried.

“Release the hounds!” Tyler said which made Jamie laugh, his loud sweet goofy laugh which made Tyler laugh in return and then there were dogs, _careful_ , wrestled by Jamie and gently reprimanded as they made their way onto the couch, semi-hysterical, circling and sniffing and licking, more manhandling by Jamie until they settled in a warm, hairy ring _around_ him, not _on_ him like the Good Boys they were.

Tyler lay on the couch, completely still and heavy and totally light and untethered at the same time, ceiling above him and fabric below him and soft blanket and soft dogs around him and life was A-OK.

“Can I get you anything?” Jamie’s hand, so big, so good, moved from Tyler’s head to his neck and his shoulder and down his side to his hip and back up. “You good?”

No he wasn’t good. Tyler was on his back and he didn’t want to be on his back. He was lying on his back on his couch because he had surgery and everything was going to hurt very soon. He smiled up at Jamie, with all his teeth.

“You’re awesome.”

“You’re high.”

Tyler considered that. “Yes,” he said. “I agree.”

“I’m gonna get some water for you. Hang on.”

Tyler hung on.

The water was cold and good and the smooth rim of the glass clinked against his teeth and Jamie was good and kind and the couch was soft and wonderful.

“I’m gonna be ok, right?” Tyler tried to put the empty glass on the coffee table but missed. Jamie grabbed it just in time.

“Yeah,” Jamie said. He said it loud, like he was trying to convince everyone within hearing distance. “Yeah you are. You’re gonna be great. Good as new. Better, even.”

“Better than new?” Tyler said. He was trying to lie on his side then realized he couldn’t. He hated sleeping on his back. This was going to _suck_. “What’s better than new? Is that even… _possible_?”

Jamie just stood there, clutching the empty glass and staring at Tyler. He was wearing a baggy, stained T-shirt and old sweatpants and bare feet, face pale and strained and white and full of love and concern.

“Tyler,” he said at last, leaning down to kiss him. “Just sleep. Everything is going to be fine.”

Tyler lay on his back on the couch and tried to believe him.

//

What if I don’t remember, Tyler had said the night before the surgery.

Remember what, Jamie had said, skin on skin and hips and knees and gasping and spent.

All of this, Tyler said, head thrown back and nails dug in. Everything. You me our lives my dogs you hockey skating everything shit. Shit.

Jamie had laughed then, wet against wet skin but his muscles twitched and he’d grabbed Tyler’s hand and squeezed so tight it actually hurt.

Well if you don’t, which you won’t, I certainly will, because who could forget _you_?

//

Jamie was a Worrier, had been since he was a kid, but he managed to mostly keep it in check. He was systematic about it. He had an itemized list, actually, of things he allowed himself to worry about on a regular basis. The list, updated occasionally, mostly included:

Hockey.  
Scoring.  
Injuries.  
Family.  
Money.  
Tornadoes.  
Tyler’s dogs.  
Tyler.  
Elevators. 

Tyler was further down on the list only because Tyler was pretty reliable in terms of worry. He didn’t get hurt often, he hardly ever got sick. He was calm and he was funny and he was sweet and kind and gentle and present. He rolled with it, whatever it was. Nothing got him too upset. Nothing fazed him. He was… _solid_. He was the one who generally kept their relationship on an even keel. He calmed Jamie down when he was panicking over games lost and scoring droughts and stupid rumours. He took Jamie’s moods, even the darkest, coldest ones, in stride, and never held grudges. Jamie didn’t even think about loving him, because he just did and had, it seemed, forever.

So seeing him get wheeled off down the hallway for the operation and waiting and waiting and sweating and worrying was so foreign and so out of shape in Jamie’s experience he didn’t really know how to process it.

And seeing him again, limp and white and still in the narrow bed, loopy and glazed and weepy presented a reality Jamie had been determined to avoid. Not that he’d ever thought Tyler might _die_ or anything, fuck, no. Jamie’s brain refused to even dip a toe into that pond of thought. But, the healing part was tricky. He knew that from his own experience. This kind of injury could. Well. It could go lots of different ways for players. That’s all. Not that it would for Tyler. Of course not. But still, there was a healing period and it had to be followed. That’s all.

Tyler’s mom stayed with them for a few days, helping out so Jamie could run errands for food and meds and ingredients for Tyler’s favourite smoothies. The shortened game season would be starting soon and Jamie both welcomed and dreaded it. He needed to be back on the ice like he needed air, but the thought of doing it for weeks, _months_ without Tyler beside him gave him heart palpitations and cold sweat down his spine.

But Tyler was good, he’d come through with flying colours, he was cool, he was goofy and pliant and easygoing and as sweet and resilient as ever, thank Christ.

So, Jamie didn’t worry _about_ him, exactly, or didn’t _allow_ himself to worry about him.

What Jamie worried about most, to be honest, was trying to get by _without_ him.

//

_It may be three to six months before arthroscopy patients experience no pain after physical activity._

//

The couch was his bed. The couch was his new best friend. The couch was the _whole goddamn world._

It had been one of his first purchases for the house, years ago. He needed something big and wide and soft and sprawling, perfect for two large muscly hockey players and three large lazy dogs to fit on comfortably and he’d done his homework, had searched and Googled and visited stores and finally settled on this one. He’d loved it over the years, but now —now — it was almost verging on magical. Not too hard, not too soft, good for his back and his hip and his leg and if he happened to fall asleep there — often — he didn’t wake up in the morning stiff and sore and cranky.

His mom was there for a while, busying herself with preparing foods and adjusting bandages and helping him hobble to the bathroom and waiting outside for him to finish and helping him back to the couch and sitting with him while he watched endless hours of television when Jamie was busy with team stuff. Tyler slept and slept and dreamed of home, of Ontario in summer, the humidity enveloping him like a heavy, greasy coat, Ontario in winter, of snow and ice and air so cold it bit the inside of your nose when you breathed. He’d been in Texas for years now, almost as long as he’d been an Ontario boy, but the weather there, the heat, the cold, it had dug its hooks into him. It had taken hold and it wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Healing was slow. He knew this. He’d been through this before. He could be patient, more patient than he was years ago. He knew his body better now and knew his age and how it affected everything and the process he needed to go through to get back to full capacity.

Hockey would wait for him. And the team. The team would wait. They would play, of course, and win, he hoped, but they wouldn’t, like, _forget_ him or anything. Ha.

And yet, watching Jamie come and go, talking of meetings and the upcoming season and plays and line changes and seeing him get excited about playing with Roope and Guri and knowing he wouldn’t be a part of it, well, it fucking hurt more than his hip or his leg, even on the bad days.

Jamie included him, of course, in everything, drawing him into conversations and discussions, asking his opinion on potential changes and wondering what he thought because Tyler had experience and Tyler was good and knew his shit not just because they lived together and slept together or anything like that. He included him because Tyler had opinions that mattered. To, like, the success of the season.

“Yeah,” he said with emphasis, when Jamie asked if he was making the right decision about _anything_. Or, “Of course. Good idea.” Or, “ “Well, you know best.” Or, “Guri. He’s the fastest. Untapped potential.”

Jamie listened with his brow furrowed as he calculated and absorbed and always said thanks, and I appreciate it, but Tyler never knew, really, if he was listening at all. Then he’d go on his way, practically vibrating with excitement to practice, mind humming and churning with potential and Tyler would take another pain pill and snuggle with Gerry and Marshall and the Other One and try not to think as he burrowed into the couch and he slept and dreamed some more.

//

From Klinger: Hey buddy hope your taking good care of yourself also hope you don’t forget how to skate ha ha

From Guri: Get well soon!!!! But not too soon. Get strong. In your own time!!!

From Miro: Miss you on the ice. No rush. I will keep scoring a lot anyway.

From Roope: Do not worry Will take care of Jamie while you are gone ;)))

Jamie: are the guys texting you?? I think they might be but they won’t tell me waht there texting you

From Rads: come back please strang things hapening

//

And while Tyler dreamed Jamie practiced. The ice under his skates felt exactly the same and the pucks ringing off the posts and up into the rafters above sounded the same and the cold still air of the arena smelled exactly the same and he laughed and moved and shot and fell and it felt _good_ to be back because he’d fucking missed all of this.

And Pavs and Rads and Klinger and Guri and Roope and Miro surrounding him and slapping his back and grinning and goofing with him was the same as always. It was good. Just _different_.

And the new lines were fire, he couldn’t deny that, but they hadn’t actually played yet, so it was all like. Well. There was a fancy word for what it way but he couldn’t remember at the moment. It wasn’t real yet. It was imagined. But it was working and he felt good and fast and younger than he had in years trying to keep up with Guri and Roope. God they were fucking fast and he was tired and preoccupied and more than once Bones pulled him aside to make sure he was ok and not feeling too tired or too sore and Jamie laughed because he felt _great._

It was just _different_.

He kept looking for Tyler and he kept not finding him and he tried to remember all the funny stories and incidents every day to tell Tyler when he got home but sometimes he forgot things and then he almost felt guilty for some reason. And telling Tyler and watching the expression on his face made him feel even guiltier, even when Tyler laughed or encouraged him to continue, lying on his back on the couch with the dogs and the blanket that smelled like both of them from days past.

//

Jamie had fucked him on the couch the afternoon it was delivered. Pale sunlight slanting through the half-closed shutters, slicing across the floor, across the thick, long lines of Jamie’s muscles as they worked and bunched along his back and arms. Tyler had hooked his uninjured unoperated on legs up high and held on because Jamie was a man on a mission, coming with a groan and a low shout when Tyler bit at his sharp bare collarbone, slick with sweat.

“Good couch,” Jamie had said, breath hot on Tyler’s neck.

“Really _good fucking_ couch,” Tyler agreed, and then laughed because he was hilarious. He settled beside Jamie, covering them with a blanket and trying not to think about the lasting effects of various body fluids on possibly untreated fabric.

Worth it, then.

Now, he had his pile of blankets and his pile of dogs. He had food and a smoothie on a tray within reach and he had the TV. He had his crutches so he could hobble to the bathroom or to the kitchen or to let the dogs out to pee. He was fine. Everything was _fine_. He was healing. He thought, briefly, about jerking off, the memory of Jamie on him and in him overwhelming him. His dick twitched a little bit but the thought of doing anything about it, of working up the energy to reach under the blankets under the sweats and get anything going kind of exhausted him.

He slept, instead.

And dreamed of Jamie, of course, naked and looming and large and entwined with oh god, _Roope_? And Miro and _Guri_? Everyone was naked. And _writhing_. Except Tyler, who was clothed and watching and shaking with anything but arousal. And Roope turned and looked and _winked_. And beckoned, one long finger crooked. And Jamie was watching too, waiting.

And then — thank god — he was dreaming about a swimming pool filled with gigantic insects which, while also horrifying, was infinitely better than Jamie doing anything with their teammates.

And then he woke up.

And Jamie was there, leaning over him, face close and blurry and so very concerned. He wasn’t naked, but Tyler was mad at him anyway.

“Hey,” Jamie said. “It’s late.”

Time, Tyler thought in his loopy drugged haze, was one big fucking mindfuck.

“You ok, babe?”

“Sure,” Tyler said, anything but. It was 9am it was 2:45pm it was the middle of the night middle of the morning the middle of the day it was today tomorrow up and down. Whoa. Someone stop this train he wanted the fuck off.

“Are you coming to bed?” Jamie asked, because it was bed time apparently, which meant sleeping in a bed with Jamie and not on the couch. Jamie hovered nearby, ready to assist if needed. He was wearing an old T-shirt and worn plaid sleep pants, hair loose and wild and soft and Tyler blinked a few times.

“I’m good right here, actually,” Tyler said finally, wiggling on the couch which was starting to smell a bit sour in a few places, if he was being honest. He should probably think about cleaning it at some point. Steam cleaning. But that would require him moving and making other arrangements like sleeping in the bed. Sitting on a chair.

Jamie stood still a few moments longer. “Uh. Are you hurting? Do you need anything? Need me to help you?”

Tyler pulled the blanket up higher. Cash whined and moved, grudgingly. “No,” he said. “Thank you,” he added because he wasn’t a total asshole. 

It took a long time to fall back asleep.

//

Skating without Tyler fucking _sucked_. It was like skating with a missing limb. Maybe not one of his legs, but an arm for sure. One arm that was too short, so everything was awkward and difficult and he had to work extra hard. Paying attention was hard. Remembering that Tyler wasn’t there and just wasn’t going to be there for so long was hard.

Keeping up with Guri and Roope, keeping pace, not looking like he was a million years old was challenging enough, and skating with a shortened arm, with one eye clouded, it was fucking horrible some days. But then they’d click, like everything would fall into place and the passes connected and Jamie would net one beautiful goal after another and he could feel the joy overriding everything else and all he wanted to do was get home and tell Tyler how awesome it all was.

“That’s great,” Tyler said in a voice that suggested anything but. He was sprawled on the couch with a hot water bottle on his hip and the television blaring some fishing show that looked like the backwoods of Ontario.

There was a long pause filled with the sounds of water splashing and fish flapping.

“Yeah,” Jamie said, fidgeting. “It. It’s weird, you know? I was. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to you know. Keep up.”

Tyler huffed out a breath. “Come here,” he said, reaching out. Jamie collapsed next to him, careful, gentle, and let Tyler pull him as close as he could. “I’m sorry.”

“For what.”

“For not, like, being more excited.” He kissed Jamie’s neck, pushed the collar of his T-shirt down and kissed his neck. “Like _you’d_ ever have trouble keeping up. Please.”

He kissed Jamie’s throat, bit down on the tendon straining there, laughed when Jamie tensed and arched under him.

“You’re not old,” Tyler said as he slid down Jamie’s body, pushing up his shirt and tugging on the waistband of his sweats. “You’re not old,” he said as he mouthed at Jamie’s cock, under the sweats, over his underwear as Jamie bit down on his lower lip and moaned in his throat. Tyler slide down further, slowly, carefully, mouth open and wet and working and—

“Ow fuck,” he said, going still, panting. “Ow. Fuck. Owfuck.”

“Oh my god.” Jamie sat up, jostling Tyler and making him swear again. Jamie’s dick was hitting Tyler in the face as he braced himself, face pale and sweatslick. “Oh my god. Oh my god you’re hurt. Your hip. Shit. Fuck. What can I do. Are you ok. What do you want me to do.”

Tyler let his head fall on Jamie’s thigh. Jamie touched his hair.

“Maybe it’s too soon, for like. You know.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said trying to turn over and failing. He knew.

//

_It's best to avoid sleeping on your affected side for at least six weeks. After your doctor gives you the go-ahead, listen to your body, and only lie on your operative side when you feel comfortable._

//

The couch without Jamie fucking _sucked_.

He hobbled from the living room to the bathroom to the kitchen back to the couch in an endless groundhog day loop that left him dazed and exhausted.

He curled up in his pretend fort and watched endless episodes of bad television and waited for Jamie and listened to Jamie and tried to think of interesting stories to tell Jamie when he got home.

_Peed four times this morning._

_Only lost my balance once._

_Made chicken and rice for dinner._

_Ate almost all of it._

_Sorry._

_Thought of you._

_Tried to jerk off._

_Got tired halfway through and stopped._

_Thought about making dessert._

_Didn’t._

He fell back on the couch and waited and waited. He’d worried about forgetting things but in the end he remembered everything. He remembered every single thing they’d done here, every kiss every cuddle every attempt, successful and not, at fucking, every argument every injury every ice bag all imprinted here in the fabric which was gross but mostly beautiful. Tyler pushed his face into the soft rough fabric and breathed in and breathed out and—

//

The guys asked about Tyler, in passing, out of concern, to be polite, because they honestly cared. Jamie answered as honestly as he could without going into too much detail. Everyone knew the healing process took time and everyone knew Tyler was impatient that he’d be going through rehab, that it would take the time it would take. Jamie, ever the Captain, kept them filled in without invading privacy, told them Tyler was making steady progress, that everything was On Track, that he couldn’t wait to be back.

In the changeroom: “Sure miss him,” Klinger said as they suited up for practice, and everyone agreed.

“Tell him I said hi,” said Esa, grinning wide and bright.

“Tell him to come back soon,” Rads said, making it sound like a threat, slapping Jamie on the back, hard.

On the ice: “Hey Jamie,” Denis said as they leaned together against the boards, voice low and soft. “How are you doing?”

Jamie looked at him. “Uh. I’m…fine?”

Denis paused like he didn’t quite believe him. Then, “Ok. That’s good.” He nodded and patted his shoulder and made direct eye contact before skating away.

After practice in the changeroom, solicitously: “Hey how’s Seggy holding up?” That was Roope sitting across from him, voice and face appropriately concerned.

Jamie sighed. “He’s ok. Like, physically. But he’s, you know, bored. Stir crazy, more than usual even.”

“Must be kind of boring for you, huh?” Miro chimed in.

“Uh,” Jamie said. “Well. More for him, really. Since he can’t, you know. Do much.”

Miro and Roope exchanged glances. Guri laughed, high and nervous.

“That’s too bad,” Roope said but he was kind of smiling at the same time.

Rads groaned and muttered something under his breath that Jamie didn’t catch. It sounded like a curse.

More than once he saw Denis standing with Roope and Miro, heads together, mouths moving, looking over at him with knowing looks that he couldn’t decipher. It unnerved him, even though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what they could be talking about.

Regardless, Jamie was on fire. He was raring to go. He was skating fast and making passes and hitting marks and this line was going to work, he could feel it. It was a good season, despite all the other shit.

“Looking good,” Roope said, tapping Jamie’s shoulder after a spectacular pass. He was wearing pigtails Jamie noticed suddenly. Pigtails. In his hair. Jamie felt like he was having a stroke. What was going on.

“Killer pass,” Guri agreed, appearing out of nowhere, grinning insanely wide.

“Hot stuff,” Miro said, whacking Jamie’s shin with his stick. Then he winked.

_Winked._

After practice he was slow, tired and sore and the last to finish. When he plodded down the hallway wondering what mischief Tyler had gotten up to today, they were all there _again_ , flanking the exit to the parking lot, waiting, arms crossed, watching him.

“Hey,” Jamie said. He was still shoving his shit into his bag as he walked. His hair wasn’t even dry.

“Wanted to make sure you were ok,” Roope said.

“Oh,” Jamie said. “Yeah. I am. Thanks.”

“Good,” Miro said, nodding.

“Yeah,” Jamie said. He was starting to sweat.

“Looking good, Captain,” Guri said bright and happy, and then saluted him. Jamie smiled, confused, and saluted in return. Guri slapped Jamie’s ass, hard, as he passed by.

//

Tyler followed the doctor’s order religiously. He felt better, he did, he felt like he could even _skate_ if he tried hard enough. The thought of training going on without him, of games being played without him, was torture. Jamie coming home bursting with stories about lines and practice and levels of competency were killing him.

He grabbed his crutches and made his way to the back door. It was raining, but with sun shining weakly through. There was a rainbow, bright and vibrant, stretching as far as he could see, arching high and wide above him.

“Hey, Jamie,” he yelled over his shoulder into the empty cavernous space behind him. Jamie wasn’t there. Jamie was at _practice_. “There’s a rainbow,” he said into the cavernous empty space around him.

Gerry whined. 

_//_

It was raining when Jamie left the arena and there was a rainbow. He had to stop for a moment to process it, to separate what he was seeing from the reality of where he was, standing in a parking lot in Texas, thousands of miles and years away from Canada. He hadn’t seen a rainbow this bright and vivid since childhood he didn’t think. He wished he was at home. He wished he was with Tyler. He wished Tyler was here with him. 

_//_

Klinger: Miss you buddy at least golf will be starting soon if you miss hockey season haha 

Miro: I scored many goals today again 

Roope: Don’t worry we are taking good care of Jamie for you ;))))) 

Guri: Hope you are feeling much better!!! Get lots of rest!!! 

Rads: you relly need to get back here soon 

_//_

Off the ice Jamie tried to ignore them because they weren’t making a lot of sense lately, but sometimes, of course, he couldn’t. They were his teammates. He was their Captain. They were very young, he kept reminding himself. Young, and not dumb exactly, but inexperienced and sometimes kind of weird. 

“So,” said Roope suddenly on a Wednesday morning, change room almost empty. “Seggy’s still gonna be out for a while, yeah?” 

Jamie looked up from his skates and pulled a face. “Yeah. Like, March, maybe April? Sucks.” These laces were _knotted_. His fingers _hurt_. 

“Yeah,” Roope said, drawing it out. “Sucks.” 

He and Miro exchanged a look. Miro kicked the door. It closed with a thud. They both moved closer. 

Jamie gave up, stopped what he was doing, sat back, looked right at them. 

“So,” Roope said again like they were having an actual conversation. He tilted his head and smiled. “How serious are you two, exactly?” 

Jamie laughed. He couldn’t help it. He looked at each of them in turn, waited. Roope looked right back. 

“Are…are you. Is that like, a real question?” 

Miro nodded. 

“Well. Uh. Pretty fucking serious,” Jamie said, face going flush and hot. “Yeah. Serious.” 

Miro and Roope looked at each other, eyebrows doing things Jamie didn’t understand. 

“You guys…you know this. I don’t. What are you…” Jamie trailed off. 

Miro shrugged and Guri blushed and Roope coolly picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head, smooth and fluid. 

“Just making, you know, conversation.” 

“Ok,” Jamie said. He yanked on his laces hard, willing them to snap in his hands. 

“Just,” Roope said. “If you’re ever, you know, lonely. Or bored. We’d be like.” He paused and gestured at the three of them. “Around.” 

“Around.” 

“Yes,” Miro said, nodding. “ _Available._ ” 

Denis was smiling. “We’re here for you.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Just think about it,” Roope said, tapping him on the shoulder as they filed out. 

Jamie watched them go. “Think about _what_?” 

_//_

Tyler was dozing when Jamie let himself in. Tyler listened to him drop his shit at the front door and clomp down the hall to the living room. Tyler wondered for a moment if he was still dreaming, but then he could smell him, freshly showered and damp with shampoo and winter rain. 

Rain. It had been raining and Jamie smelled cold and fresh and like an outside that wasn’t familiar. 

“I’ve had the weirdest fucking day,” Jamie said, falling into the space between Tyler and the arm of the couch, leaning back, deep into the cushions. He had always loved this couch as much as Tyler. He’d helped picked it out and he always talked about how soft and deep it was and how it fit both of them and smelled like dogs and like Tyler. 

Tyler shifted a bit. He was sleepy and a bit cranky. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Jamie said and let out a laugh that sounded painful. “Like, you wouldn’t believe.” 

“Try me.” 

“I don’t know if I _can_.” Jamie slid sideways, careful not to bump Tyler, trying to cuddle up behind him without taking too much room. 

“Aww. Are the boys being mean to you?” 

Jamie went completely rigid, breath catching in his throat and Tyler laughed. 

“I was joking.” 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “I know.” He paused. “Haha.” 

He lay still for a moment, barely breathing, and Tyler was just about to ask him what the fuck was wrong when he spoke, 

“So did you make dinner and then eat it all again?” 

And Tyler kicked him. Gently. Because, yes. 

_//_

_Sexual Intercourse can be resumed at any time as long as it is comfortable. Similar to the rehab exercise we advise patients to avoid movements that cause pain or discomfort. If you are a male, you want to avoid hyperextension (bending the hip backwards) of the hip in the first few weeks._

_//_

He wished Jamie good luck and watched the first game of the season from the couch. He wrapped himself up in four blankets and three dogs and ate organic salad and drank two beers because fuck it. He watched Miro and Roope and Guri and Dobby and Klinger and he watched the fans and the banner going up and hobbled to the kitchen for a painkiller and debated another beer and thought that might not be a good idea after all so grabbed a bottle of green juice and hobbled back and curled up in blankets and watched Jamie. Jamie who had just been here hours ago, in his mouth writhing and panting and cursing and now was cutting through ice and trying to connect on passes and drilling players into the boards. Tyler should be there too, he thought suddenly. The thought gripped him so entirely, so fiercely, for the first time. Seeing the team on the fucking television, guys he’d hung out with non-fucking-stop for two months now there without him, not thinking about him, not giving a shit whether he was there or not. 

Then he watched Jamie take a hit and weird fall and saw his knee and ankle buckle and saw him hit the boards hard. He watched him try to push through another few minutes and then watched him hobble off on the arms of medical staff. _Then_ he watched him not come back. 

Watching Jamie hit the boards with his legs curled up pretty much fucking sucked. Watching him hobble down the tunnel, his big hulking form held up by two small men made Tyler feel like throwing up. 

He curled into the couch and clutched his phone in his hand and waited. 

_//_

“Well this fucking sucks,” Jamie said knee wrapped and bandaged and propped on the coffee table. 

Tyler shifted beside him and laughed with no humour. “Yes,” he said. “I’m aware.” 

Jamie thunked his head back and closed his eyes. “This is so stupid. This is so fucking dumb. I hate this.” 

Tyler buried his face into one of the pillows and said something. 

“What?” Jamie put a hand on Tyler’s calf, twisted in the blanket. “Didn’t hear ya.” 

“I said I don’t hate it.” 

“You’re happy I got hurt?” Jamie said, poking him in the side, in between two ribs. It didn’t feel great. 

“No,” Tyler said, poking him back, but more gently. Jamie didn’t know his own strength most of the time. “I just. No. Of course not. Jesus. I’m just glad you’re like. Here. For a bit. With me.” 

Jamie looked at him. “What?” 

Tyler paused. “Well, you don’t know what it’s like to have to watch you play like with other guys and do awesome shit without me and—” 

“Wait,” Jamie said, trying to process. “Are you…are you _jealous_?” 

“Yes?” 

Jamie looked at him. He looked like he was realizing something. “Tyler—” 

Tyler turned his face and mumbled into the couch again. 

Jamie leaned closer. “What?” 

Tyler turned his face a fraction. “I just don’t want you to forget me.” 

Jamie stared at him, unsure he’d heard correctly. 

“What?” he said again, louder. 

“You heard me.” 

“Yeah, I know. I know I did.” Jamie blinked. “Are. Are you being serious, though?” Jamie’s life, his existence, his _reality_ was all feeling extremely unreal at the moment. It was all very…Truman Show-ish and he seriously wondered if Tyler had hired a secret camera crew to follow him around and catch him in these ridiculous scenarios here and at the rink. It would explain a _lot_. He wouldn’t put it past Tyler, to be honest. He got up to some real questionable shit when he was bored. 

“No,” Tyler said, clearly meaning yes. His face was flushed a deep red that Jamie associated with either extreme embarrassment, extreme intoxication or extreme horniness. He put an arm over his face. 

“Uh,” Jamie said. He looked around the room. He looked at the literally hundreds of framed photos of the two of them over the years, game photos and media photos, and personal ones, too. The two of them together, laughing, hugging, arms slung so easily over each other’s shoulder. Photos of them kissing, black and white, colour, fucking _sepia_ toned. Trips on vacations, trips home to Victoria and Brampton, vacations to far-off tropical destinations where the very rich and famous could be guaranteed absolute discretion and privacy for weeks at a time. He thought about all the discussions they’d had about commitment and actual fucking marriage at some point, about starting a family, about winning the goddamn Stanley Cup. 

“We live together,” he said instead. He felt dumb, like he was missing something. “Like, we literally share a house. I see you every single day.” 

“I know.” Tyler moaned. “I know. I know we do. I just.” He moved again. His ass was beautiful, even buried under blankets and dogs. “You have new lineys. You’re gonna like. Forget me.” 

“It would be pretty much impossible for me to forget about you. You _live_ here.” He paused. “ _We_ live here. Together,” he finished lamely. This wasn’t at all what he’d wanted to say but it was the easiest and made the most sense because this entire conversation was making Jamie’s head hurt, and his heart. He put a hand on Tyler’s leg, the good one, buried under mounds of blanket and dog hair. “Tyler.” 

Tyler moved his arm just enough that he could open his eyes and look at Jamie. Now he looked like he was crying, or about to cry, that glassy, shiny fragile look he got. He swallowed with a clicking noise. 

“What if you and Roope and Guri all play so great together and score all the goals and kill it out there together and I come back like in fucking April and where do I fit in? Where do I fit in there at all?” 

Jamie pushed him over, gently, and lay down beside him, on his side, leg angled out, ass hanging off the edge. They’d managed, over the years, to perfect the act of lying together on different couches, tangled up in blankets and dogs and each other, watching TV, watching hockey games, kissing, hand jobs, blow jobs, even fucking occasionally. Two large, muscular bodies were challenging to navigate on a piece of furniture but this couch, this one, wide and soft and endless, welcomed their bodies the best. Jamie missed it here, missed this furniture and missed Tyler. He wrapped his arms around Tyler, who lay stiff and coiled, hot under Jamie’s touch. Jamie pressed his nose into the side of Tyler’s neck and inhaled. 

“I couldn’t forget you if I tried. I couldn’t forget you if I like, wanted to. Which I _don't_. I spend most of my day trying to focus on hockey and playing and training and I keep fucking forgetting you’re not there. I’ve almost passed to you so many times it’s embarrassing. I called your name out in the change room the other day. I talk about you all the fucking time. I get chirped for it constantly. So. Yeah.” 

Tyler exhaled, his entire long, heavy body going limp under Jamie’s hands. He struggled and turned onto his side, facing Jamie, knees bumping under the blankets. Jamie could feel his breath, warm and slightly stale on his cheek. 

“We were supposed to like.” He looked over at Jamie. “Tonight.” 

Jamie moved his leg a bit and winced. “Yeah. I know.” 

They both sighed. 

“Well we’re a pair, aren’t we,” Jamie said, rolling his head against the pillow. He looked at Tyler. His eyes felt big and wide and slightly glassy from the drugs. The drugs were good. He knew Tyler missed the drugs sometimes. 

Tyler touched his cheek and the tip of his nose and his hair, soft and washed and ungelled. 

“Yeah,” he said. “We really are.” 

_//_

It was good, Jamie decided, those five days on the couch together. It was easy to forget, sometimes, what was waiting for him when he returned. 

_//_

“So?” Roope said after Jamie’s first practice back. He was bare-chested, hair loose and damp and tousled, face flushed. He was staring at Jamie with an intensity reserved for Game 7 OT. 

“So?” Jamie echoed. His mouth was dry and he was sweating all over. 

“I’m happy you’re feeling better,” Denis said. Both Roope and Miro sighed and rolled their eyes. 

“Yes,” Roope said. “We are all very happy that you are healed.” 

“Thanks,” said Jamie. 

“Also. Have you thought about it?” 

Jamie blinked. 

“We just think you’re really fucking hot,” Roope said, hip cocked, head tilted, blonde hair spilling to the side. 

Jamie had no clue what to say. He said, “Uh.” He wondered, vaguely, if his face was as red as it felt. “Hmm,” he said. 

“Yeah,” said Miro. “Really good.” 

“That’s nice. Of you,” he said finally. And then, “But I don’t think so.” 

Miro sighed and looked over at Roope. He did something complicated with his eyebrows, or just one eyebrow. Jamie wasn’t sure. Roope looked back, and shrugged a shoulder. Denis nodded at both of them and clasped his hands in front of him. 

The door slammed open. Rads appeared, looked at them, closed his eyes and shook his head, turned around and stomped out. 

“The offer,” Roope continued, “stands. If you change your mind.” 

“Change my mind,” Jamie repeated. “About what?” 

“Just ask Seggy,” Miro said. 

“Ask him _what_?” Jamie said. 

“He'll know,” Roope said. 

“Yes,” Denis said. “Seggy will know.” 

“Know _what_?” 

No one answered. 

“Ok well I think I can answer for him. Yeah I think we’re good,” Jamie said very loudly. “It’s uh like really nice of you to offer? Really. But we’re doing fine. We’re fine. Both of us.” 

They stared. They seemed, collectively, unconvinced. 

“But thank you,” Jamie added sincerely, to be polite, and he found he actually kind of meant it. 

_//_

The couch was empty, blankets neatly folded, no weird indentations on the pillows. The room was quiet and still and grey in the afternoon light. Jamie dropped his bag and blinked a few times. He wanted a nap, suddenly and the couch looked soft and familiar and inviting but there was no Tyler on it, so he left it. 

He was in their room, in their bed. He looked up and looked at Jamie, blinked and smiled. 

“Oh wow. Your _face_.” He laughed. “So, you finally figured it out, huh,” Tyler said. He was reading a _book_. Jamie stared at him. A book. Holy hell. 

“How bored _are_ you?” Jamie said as he fell onto the bed with as much grace as he could muster, jostling everything. Then he said, “Figured what out?” 

Tyler rolled his eyes. He was wearing his _glasses_. Jamie wanted to jump him right there and then. He also wanted to know what the hell he was reading. He looked so fucking hot in glasses. 

“The boys. Asked you. For a threesome. Or foursome. Was Guri roped into it too?” 

Jamie stared at him. “What?” 

Tyler sighed. 

“You _knew?”_

“Well, I guessed. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, the way they look at you. Look up to you. Both. Whatever. I figured they’d like shoot their shot if I was out of the picture.” He paused, then giggled. “Shoot their shot. Get it?” 

“You knew.” Jamie no longer felt like jumping him. Shoving him off the bed seemed like a much more satisfactory option. Throwing his goddamn glasses across the room and watch him try to read a book then with his shitty shitty vision. 

“Did they invite me at least?” 

“Yes,” Jamie muttered. 

“Well duh,” Tyler said, rolling his eyes. “What did you—” 

“I said _no_ ,” Jamie said, horrified. “Jesus, Tyler.” 

“No for you?” 

Jamie shoved him, very gently. “No for both of us. _Both_. Me and you. Neither of us is joining a…fivesome. No.” He paused. "Unless. Like. Is that what you. Are you." 

Tyler laughed and then kissed Jamie's shoulder and then shook his head empatically and then sighed, all theatrical like he did when he thought Jamie was being boring. He sighed a lot. He turned on his side, slowly, gingerly, pressed his face into Jamie’s collarbones. Jamie could feel him smiling against his skin. He put his hand on the back of Tyler’s head, the familiar shape and slope of his skull. Ok. It was ok. Everything was ok.

__

__//_ _

__

He got himself ready with lube and fingers and thoughts of Jamie and took a long time doing it, too, and then positioned himself on the couch, naked and splayed and waiting. He waited longer than he expected. He was kind of cold and dozing off when Gerry barked. 

“Huh,” Jamie said, standing over him, expression slightly glazed. 

“Yeah,” Tyler said. 

“What’s going on?” Jamie said eyes moving up and down. 

“We’re gonna do it,” Tyler said. 

“We are?” 

“Yes. Right now.” He paused. “Your knee feels ok, right?” 

Jamie flexed it a few times and then jumped up and down for good measure. “Yes.” Emphatic. 

“Your hip?” 

“Yeah. I’ve been researching. We’re gonna do it standing up.” 

“Not on the couch.” 

“No. Standing up.” 

For emphasis Tyler held up his phone with an image emblazoned on the screen. Technicolour. A drawn diagram. Sexual intercourse, standing up. There it was all right. 

“Ok,” Jamie said and stripped, very fast. “I can. I can do that.” 

“Oh, I know you can.” 

Jamie paused. “And it’s…ok for you? That way?” 

Tyler hauled himself off the couch and limped a bit over to Jamie who grabbed him. 

Tyler shrugged. “Supposed to be the best way?” 

“Ok,” Jamie said and kissed him. It was weird, awkward, trying to be gentle, to be careful, standing up against the wall beside the couch, Jamie watching his knee and Tyler’s hip and two erections and Tyler wanting to get Jamie in his mouth first, but it just wasn’t going to happen. He settled for kissing his neck and his shoulder and touching his nipples and the small dip at his waist and the curve of his ass and the cleft there and his dick, of course, which was so hard and so wet. 

The mechanics of it was the same but vertical, which was challenging and awesome but _different_. Tyler sucked hard on the side of Jamie’s neck and he gasped, fingers digging in hard on Tyler’s waist. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Jamie said but it didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt at the moment. 

Memory, Tyler thought as they kissed and as he turned to face the wall, the memory of doing this, or not quite this, before. Jamie’s skin on his skin, up and down, over and under and through. The memory of his hand braced hard against a solid surface, sliding with sweat, Jamie rightupbehindhim, chest hair against his shoulder blades, breath against his ear. He remembered. His body his skin his muscles remembered it all. 

“This is the position,” Tyler said, gasping and arching. “I like, researched it.” 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “You mentioned that.” He groaned against the sweaty curls at the base of Tyler’s neck, teeth pulling at stray hairs. “Were you wearing your glasses? Tell me you were.” 

“Ok,” Tyler said. “I was. For me and for you. This is a good one. Least amount of…uh…pressure and stress and…” 

Tyler braced his hands against the wall, palms moist and flat, fingers spread wide, legs braced, back arched. He felt ok. His hip was ok. 

Jamie put his hands on Tyler’s shoulders, slid them down the bones and dips of his back, over the bones of his hips. Then he was poised and then he was sliding in and then he was inside. Tyler braced himself more firmly, back arched and gleaming, Jamie’s head bent low against the bumps of his spine, time spooling and spilling out between them. 

“Oh my god,” Jamie said, and then something a lot less coherent, and yes, that was it, Tyler thought, those wordless thoughtless noises, Jamie’s cock inside him, and Jamie’s hands on his arms and on his chest and on his hips and his own hips snapped and snapped. This was a good memory. This was a memory his entire body was keeping. 

“Ok,” Jamie said and then came, stuttering, one big hand finding Tyler’s cock and working it, too. Muscles there, too, muscles responding to touch and movement and sound and breath. Tyler came, too, and managed to stay standing through it, but only just. 

“Uh,” said Jamie in a long, hot breath and Tyler laughed. 

“I need…I need to lie down,” Tyler said and almost fell. Jamie caught him. Jamie always caught him. 

Then they were on the couch and fuck the fluids, Tyler thought burrowing and turning with a little less effort than before, because he was healing, because bodies were a marvel and muscles remembered everything. 

“Yeah they do,” Jamie said, quiet, voice muffled by skin and fabric. 

“Huh?” Tyler said, half turning. “What?” 

“Everything,” Jamie said. “And if they don’t, I will. I’ll remember for you. It’ll be enough.” 

Muscle memory, Tyler thought, every muscle remembering its job, everything falling into place, everything in alignment with another body, never forgetting, even if it tried. 

And there was the room and the low late winter light. There was the two of them. There was the unmade dinner. And the dogs. And the couch. It would be enough. 

__

__//_ _


End file.
